


The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows

by willgrahamchops



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Face-Fucking, Fluff, Kissing Kink, M/M, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:37:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willgrahamchops/pseuds/willgrahamchops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I can't believe you did that.”</i>
</p><p>  <i>“Kissed you?” Carlos asks. He feels Cecil shudder under his hands.</i></p><p>  <i>“Yes,” he hisses. “Right there, where anyone could – oh, beautiful, perfect Carlos, I never thought you were kinky too!”</i></p><p>Or, Cecil's erogenous zones are in nonstandard places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Brand New.

Cecil orders a spidermilk latte. Carlos orders black coffee, because it's the only drink here he trusts. 

“What _is_ spidermilk?” He asks while they wait. “Milk from lactating spiders? Or normal milk with spiders in it?”

Cecil shakes his head and grins. “It's not really milk. Just a paste made from crushed up spiders.”

Carlos blinks. Of course it is.

They sit, and while Carlos talks about clocks and drinks his only slightly radioactive coffee, Cecil stares at him with adoration in his eyes and stirs his drink with his pinky finger. That's weird, yeah, but only in comparison to _Carlos's_ version of normal. In terms of Night Vale, it's not even worth mentioning. 

What is worth mentioning is that Carlos has eyes on Cecil the entire time and never once sees Cecil drink his coffee, but by the time they're ready to go, the spidermilk latte is somehow empty. Carlos squints and says nothing.

Which is fine, because Cecil has plenty to say in the parking lot. Stuff like: “That was super great; we should get coffee again! Or dinner. Or you could come to my house and I can show you how to crush spiders!” He also says: “Wow, look at the sunset. It's really purple today.” And he says: “Your eyes remind me of the sunset. Not that they're purple. I just mean--”

“Dinner sounds great,” says Carlos.

Cecil's eyes go so wide that the third one has to pop open to accommodate his surprise.

This was never supposed to be a date – was certainly never supposed to lead to a _second_ date – but Cecil is growing on him. His enthusiasm is endearing. So are those razor-sharp teeth. Carlos wants to kiss him.

But he doesn't. He makes dinner plans for Thursday, assuming Thursday exists next week, and drives off in his economical yet attractively sporty hybrid Coupe. And in the parking lot, Cecil swoons. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

~

Cecil makes a point not to mention the date on the radio, which is _really_ hard, because that is the _only_ thing he wants to talk about for the rest of his natural life, and possibly far beyond that – but he doesn't want to read too much into it. Also, Cecil knows for a fact that the staff of Big Rico's listens to his show, and he doesn't want to be serenaded by his pizza when he shows up. Carlos might think that was weird, even though the veggie lovers' _does_ have an amazing soprano.

He spends an absurd amount of time deciding what to wear, eventually changing back into his work clothes, and he files his teeth twice, which is maybe a bit presumptuous of him – it _is_ only the second date – but makes him feel a lot better. He arrives half an hour early with only the softly humming mustard to calm his nerves – word must have gotten out somehow – and fidgets for an indeterminate (but unreasonably long) amount of time.

Then Carlos arrives, and none of that matters.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, shoving several whirring instruments into his enormous lab coat pockets, and then shucking the coat entirely. His hair is clinging to his forehead in places and his face is a bit flushed. “Got stuck in an ennui storm. I was trying to get some readings, but it took me a few minutes to work up the motivation.”

Cecil tries to think of something clever to say. Instead, he says, “Wow!” 

Carlos tries not to smile and fails miserably. “Did you order?” He asks.

Cecil shakes his head. He's about to open the menu when a waitress approaches them holding a tray. “Oh no,” Cecil mutters. She slides a hot pizza onto the table between them.

Carlos furrows his brow. “I think there's been a mistake,” he begins, but is cut off when one slice of pizza opens its mouth. As in, the cheese lifts itself up from the crust, revealing a mess of tomato sauce, and somehow, the pizza produces sound. The sound it produces is a stunningly accurate rendition of Prince's _Kiss_.

“ _What?_ ”

“Sorry, sorry, oh god,” Cecil mumbles through the hand covering his face. “They always do this. Last time I was here some couple got Marylin Manson.”

He's on the verge of laughing but doesn't. The slices open their mouths at different times, some singing backup vocals, others mimicking instruments. Carlos briefly wonders if it would be bad etiquette to eat a piece now.

“Can I get some moonshine?” Cecil asks the waitress through his fingers. Carlos learned early on that Night Vale moonshine was not homemade alcohol, but rather, alcohol made from the blood of virgins fermented under a full moon. It's very potent.

“Coffee for me,” Carlos says, raising his voice over the pizza.

The waitress scurries off.

 _I just want your extra time and your kiss_ , the pizza finishes. 

Both of them watch it wearily for a few seconds more, waiting for it to open its cheesy maw once again. Carlos grabs a piece, looks it in the eye, or as close as he can approximate, and takes a bite. 

Cecil still has his face buried in his hands, pale hair flopping over his fingers.

“C'mon,” Carlos says through a mouthful of what he assumes is cheese. “It's not that bad.”

Cecil's third eye peers at him from under his hair, accusatory. “ _How did they know about us?_ ” He hisses. Carlos wants to take this seriously – Cecil is obviously offended for some reason – but it's sort of hard to take singing pizza seriously in any context.

“I, uh, might have mentioned it to my team,” Carlos says, rubbing the back of his neck. The waitress arrives with their drinks, and Carlos immediately takes a sip of his, even though it's too hot. Cecil dips his finger in the moonshine and stirs. Slowly, his shoulders relax. 

“That's okay,” he says at last. 

“You're not mad that people know, are you? I mean on the radio--” 

Cecil shakes his head vigorously, his hair flopping back into his eyes. He brushes it away. “No, no. I – I want to tell everybody.”

Perhaps now isn't the best time for Carlos to advise against telling _everybody_. Instead he says, “Why're you so upset, then?”

Cecil just bites his lip, blushes, and immediately stops biting his lip.

~

Despite the rocky start, the date goes surprisingly well. Carlos gets Cecil to _talk_ this time, whereas during coffee he seemed content to listen. When Carlos asks about that, Cecil immediately blurts, “Oh, I could listen to you _forever_!” Before clearing his throat and glancing down at his half-empty drink. Funny, Carlos never saw him drink it.

Anyway, Cecil gets on a roll about one of tomorrow's stories, about how bits of sky are snapping off and falling around the desert, and citizens of Night Vale should be on the lookout for the debris and, no matter what, not look at the empty space from whence the pieces fell.

Watching Cecil talk is fascinating. It makes Carlos's mouth dry.

The date goes _so_ well, in fact, that after Carlos gets the check – _No, let me; I've finally figured out how it works_ – Cecil walks him to his car, which had an existential crisis and gave up a block down the street.

The sky is the color of rotten plums, and the full moon shines down on them. Somewhere, Carlos is sure, someone is using it to ferment the blood of virgins.

“I had a wonderful time,” Carlos says. He can practically see the compliments churning in Cecil's mouth, and knows it takes a conscious effort for him to limit himself to:

“Me too.” Cecil is trying and failing to suppress a radiant grin.

And it's so beautiful that Carlos doesn't think: he steps forward, places a hand on the back of Cecil's neck, and draws him in for a firm, closed-mouth kiss. He pulls away smiling.

But Cecil isn't smiling. His eyes are the size of flying saucers, and not the miniature ones whizzing around the radio tower, either. He presses his lips tightly together.

Carlos's heart sinks.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I thought you--”

“Maybe some foreplay first,” Cecil blurts.

“Sorry?”

Cecil's face is growing steadily darker and, perhaps involuntarily, he keeps licking his lips. “I mean – I do want that. If you want that. But maybe we shouldn't do it in the middle of the street.”

Carlos is not entirely sure what that means. “Okay,” he says slowly, mind whirring. “Where should we do it?”

And Cecil _squeaks_ , a sound Carlos didn't even know he could produce. “At... home,” he says.

There's a moment of silence, the only sound the eternal humming of the void, and then Carlos says – hoping that he's not utterly ruining everything – “Do you want to come home with me?”

Cecil does.

They leave Cecil's car in the parking lot.

~

After a short drive, Carlos's fingers white-knuckled on the wheel, Cecil chewing on his bottom lip, both terribly silent, they make it to the lab in one piece.

“Downstairs,” Carlos says, surprised by how gruff his voice is.

The apartment is dark as he shuts the door behind them. It remains that way as Cecil pushes Carlos against the door.

He thinks they're going to kiss again, but instead Cecil's mouth stops a centimeter away from his. He exhales, breath warm against Carlos's lips, and says, almost hysterical, “I can't _believe_ you did that.”

“Kissed you?” Carlos asks. He feels Cecil shudder under his hands.

“ _Yes_ ,” he hisses. “Right there, where anyone could – oh, beautiful, perfect Carlos, I never thought you were _kinky_ too!” Cecil is breathless. Carlos wants to kiss him, but that's how they got into this mess in the first place. 

“What's--” he stops to breathe; there's not enough air in here, “--What's so kinky about kissing?”

Suddenly, Cecil grabs the hands at his waist and pins them to the door. “Don't pretend you don't know,” he says, low and dangerous, and then he kisses Carlos.

It's rough, filthy, and Cecil's pointy teeth nick his lips and tongue but he doesn't care; it feels incredible. Apparently not as incredible as it feels to Cecil, though, if his moaning is anything to go by. His tongue is longer than it reasonably should be, and he flicks it rhythmically against Carlos's palate which – actually, it just sort of tickles. 

Carlos has to push Cecil off after about three minutes because it's hard to breathe. Cecil whines dejectedly. “No, no, _close_ ,” he pants.

Suddenly, things begin to click into place.  
  
Loathe as he is to do it, he gently pushes Cecil to arms' length and flips on the lamp. Cecil is flushed a faint purple, lips swollen and flecked with red, pupils blown. He looks utterly betrayed.

“Just a second,” Carlos says, sitting down on the worn couch. He pats the spot next to him. Cecil hesitates, but then sits down. His tongue occasionally darts in and out of his mouth. Carlos takes a deep breath.  
  
“Um, Cecil--” he's not sure how to put this delicately. “Did you almost just... come?”

For a moment Cecil seems not to hear him. Then he snaps, “What? Of course I did. Weren't you close?”

“From kissing,” Carlos confirms. “Well, no.”

Cecil makes a pathetic sound.

“I think maybe we're misunderstanding each other. Are you aroused by kissing?” He asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Cecil huffs, severely frustrated. “That is how sex _works_ , Carlos. First the clock tower and now this; I mean, I don't want to be rude but you _must_ have sucked on your fingers as a teenager--”

“Okay, okay, let me stop you there,” Carlos says. He chooses his words carefully. “Cecil, where I'm from, males achieve orgasm through stimulation of the penis.”

Cecil grimaces. “But I pee from there.”

Carlos snorts. “And I eat with my mouth.” He's slowly realizing that Cecil _doesn't_. They can talk about the osmosis thing later, though.

He wraps an arm around Cecil's waist, drawing him closer. Once he has Cecil's full attention, he runs the pad of his thumb across Cecil's bottom lip. 

“ _Oh._ ”

“You like it when I touch your mouth?” Carlos asks, voice much lower than it was a minute ago.

Cecil nods helplessly. Carlos runs his nail across the seam of his lips and dips the pad of his his thumb between them. Cecil's tongue flickers against it and his eyelids flutter. 

“Wow,” Carlos breathes. He feels Cecil smile under the pad of his thumb. “That's amazing. What does it feel like?”

“Um,” Cecil says. Carlos withdraws his fingers. “Good. Uh, I don't know. I imagine it's similar to when you touch your--” he glances downward.

This gives Carlos an idea; it's a perfect, amazing idea, and he's not sure why it isn't the first thing that occurred to him.

“Cecil,” he says, suddenly urgent. “Do you have receptors in your throat, too?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Cecil groans, “oh, but your tongue wouldn't reach; you've still got your frenum.”

“Not my tongue,” he says. Gently, he maneuvers Cecil off the couch until he's crouching in front of Carlos, realization spreading across his delicate face.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh, Carlos, _oh._ ”

Carlos unbuttons his pants and shoves them down around his thighs. “Is this okay?” He asks.

“I've never – _yes_ ,” says Cecil, already shuffling forward. 

He pushes his boxers down too, allowing his cock to spring free, and he's hard again just from the sight of Cecil on his knees. “Careful with your teeth, okay? I can feel pain.” 

“Right,” Cecil says, almost reverent. He's eye to eye (the third one, to be precise) with Carlos's dick, and he seems _fascinated_. He probably doesn't get erections. Carlos makes a mental note to ask later. “So I just... put it in my mouth?” 

“Do what feels good for you,” says Carlos. He wants so badly to lace his fingers in Cecil's hair, but instead he grabs fistfuls of the couch upholstery.

Cecil immediately lets his mouth fall open, revealing razor-sharp teeth that make Carlos shudder in both fear and arousal – a combination he feels often around Cecil – and he slides the flat of his tongue under the head. 

Carlos releases a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

It's incredibly apparent that Cecil has never given a blowjob before, but that turns out to be a good thing, because any semblance of technique would make Carlos lose it immediately. He's already on edge listening to Cecil's tiny sounds of pleasure, soft hums and whimpers as he rubs Carlos's dick against every conceivable surface of his mouth.

He seems especially fond of rubbing the head against his palate, tongue flattened against the underside, and sliding it in and out.

It takes him a moment to figure out what to do with his teeth. Eventually he wraps his lips around them – which must cut him, though Cecil doesn't seem to care in the slightest – and takes Carlos into his throat.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Carlos groans, and he can't help grabbing a handful of Cecil's hair. Cecil groans around him.

He takes it _far_ deeper than should be possible, until Carlos is pressing so hard against the back of his throat that he aches. His tongue snakes out to caress Carlos's balls, and he thanks the lord for missing frenums and weird biology. Cecil swallows once, twice, and then pulls off and thrusts forward again. He mumbles something unintelligible.

“What?” Carlos pants. It's an effort to keep his eyes open.

But it's worth it, because when Cecil pulls off entirely, his lips are swollen and spit streaks his chin, and he looks – petulant is the word. Adorably so.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” he says.

Carlos blinks, uncomprehending, and then Cecil swallows him down again, too deep. He grabs one of Carlos's hands and guides it to the back of his head.

And he doesn't want to hurt Cecil, but _oh,_ he wants to do this. He tightens his fist in Cecil's hair and thrusts tentatively.

Cecil's eye – the one he can see – rolls back in his head. He thrusts again, and Cecil moans.

It isn't long before Carlos starts fucking his mouth in earnest, folded over Cecil and gripping his head with both hands to keep him still.

Cecil whimpers around him, high, keening sounds that Carlos can feel vibrating in the back of his throat. There's this spot there, swollen and about the size of his thumbnail, where Cecil's uvula should be; Cecil moans every time he hits it, so that's where Carlos aims.

“God, Cecil,” is all he can say. He gives up on moving his hips after a few minutes and instead pulls Cecil down on him by the hair, which Cecil seems to enjoy if the sounds he makes are anything to go by. The air is filled with obscene, wet sounds, and it feels for a moment as if Cecil is choking but then Carlos realizes he's swallowing voluntarily, repeatedly, throat working around Carlos's length. 

He's not going to last much longer. 

Cecil's hand flutters to his neck and he presses two fingers into the junction of his jaw and throat. Without thinking, Carlos moves to join him – he swears he can feel his cock through the skin and muscle. While Cecil digs his fingers into the spot, Carlos smooths his hand up and down the column of Cecil's throat.

Then something happens that Carlos cannot fully comprehend: Cecil lets out a gut-wrenching groan, as loud as he can manage with his mouth full, and then his throat contracts around Carlos, so tight it's almost painful. His tongue tenses on the underside of Carlos's cock, and that's it – he pulls Cecil close, pressed hard against that spot, and comes in violent spurts down his throat.

Cecil remains for a few seconds more, swallowing around Carlos's softening cock, and when he pulls off, he does so slowly, rubbing it against his palate, his cheeks, and finally his lips. Come and spit drip down his chin. After a moment, he lifts himself onto the couch.

Carlos takes a deep, shaky breath and runs his hands through his hair as he exhales. He tucks himself back into his pants.

Cecil's hand finds his and he squeezes. 

The first coherent words he manages are: “Did you, uh--?”

Cecil smiles and nods vigorously, enthusiasm not diminished in the least.

“Wow,” Carlos breathes. Cecil's thumb strokes his palms. “That was. I didn't know you could do that.”

Cecil nuzzles into his neck.

“Are you – how are you?” Carlos asks.

Cecil pulls away and frowns. He gestures to his throat and then makes a tiny sound, sort of a gurgle, and shrugs.

It takes Carlos a moment to understand. “Oh, it's still... tight.”

Cecil nods.

“Is that normal?”

Cecil nods.

“Do you want some water?”

Cecil nods. 

Carlos stands, stretches, and pours Cecil a glass of water in the kitchen. Cecil smiles and dips his finger in it.

~

Carlos drives Cecil back to Big Rico's the next morning. His car hasn't been stolen – not that carjacking is very common in Night Vale – and it still appears to be non-sentient and in general working order, so that's good.

Cecil has work. Carlos technically has work, though his schedule relies more on the proliferation of bacterial cultures than on set hours – this doesn't stop him from lingering as long as humanly possible, getting out of the car with Cecil, crowding him against the car door.

Cecil doesn't hesitate before burying his face in Carlos's neck, exponentially more comfortable after the previous night, even though he and Carlos have been (un)officially dating for less than twenty-four hours. He doesn't move from this position.

After a very, very long moment of not-really-hugging-but-yeah-actually-it's-hugging, Cecil says, in a tone that suggests he's just found out that he has a skeleton inside his body _right now_ and is quietly dejected about it, “I have to go to the station.”

“Yeah,” Carlos sighs.

“I'll text you,” says Cecil.

“Okay,” Carlos sighs. 

Cecil frowns for a moment and then places a gentle hand on the back of Carlos's neck and draws him in. He closes his eyes, and then presses the tip of his nose to Carlos's and rubs it back and forth. He pulls away, eyes wide and earnest.

After a moment, Carlos asks, “Is that like kissing for you? Uh, traditionally?” 

“No,” Cecil smiles. “I just made it up.”

“It's good,” Carlos says. He's never felt this tongue-tied before, and it's actually invigorating. He feels the blood hot in his face and wonders if Cecil can see him blushing.

“Yeah,” says Cecil. He presses his face into Carlos's neck and breathes.

After a few moments, when he still hasn't let up, Carlos asks, “Are you, uh, smelling me?”

Cecil blinks slowly. “You smell like disinfectant,” he says, smiling lazily.

“Oh,” says Carlos. He's not sure if that's a compliment or not. He tries to discreetly sniff Cecil's hair, but Cecil notices immediately and leans into him. 

He raises his eyebrows expectantly as Carlos pulls back. “Well?”

“Drying asphalt?” 

“Oh,” Cecil says. “Sorry. Night after the full moon, you know. It'll be normal tomorrow, probably purple or something.”

Carlos doesn't ask what the color purple smells like. He'd rather wait and find out for himself.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
